


not sensitive

by Elendraug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Play, Cloaca, Cloacalingus, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Docking, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Frot, Gentle Sex, Hair Brushing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Sex Positive, Sex Toys, Shedding, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is that because upstanding gentlemen shouldn’t take something lying down?”</p><p>Caliborn looks up at him and grins, teeth bared but utterly unintimidating. He’s happy. “I can take a <em>lot</em> while lying down.”</p><p>Dirk smiles down at him. “Don’t I know it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	not sensitive

**Author's Note:**

> if you are squicked by peeling off snake shed/sunburn/scabs/anything along those lines, boy howdy this is not the fic for you
> 
> also, fair warning: dirk _really_ likes horses, of the bad dragon variety
> 
> happy anniversary of [S] Caliborn: Enter
> 
> ♫ [not sensitive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGcpaFimzvY) by moby

“What happens if you put too much stuff in your hair?”

Dirk leans back on the bed, a towel wrapped around his damp waist, his posture inclined towards Caliborn, who’s brushing his hair. “I ignite.”

“Just, POOF!” Caliborn lifts his hands to gesture widely. “Like that? Self-immolation.”

“Nah, just my hair. Like my hair is literally made of flames as part of my design.”

“So like that one fire bird.” Caliborn gently moves the bristles of the brush through Dirk’s hair. It’s drying in the air, gradually. The strands part as the bristles move through them, then stay in place, in parallel, like conductive tracks on a circuit board.

“What, the ballet?” Dirk laughs, and closes his eyes, cozy. “Yeah, it’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“No, not the ballet!” He follows the movement of the brush with his fingers, to smooth out the strands and pet Dirk as he goes. “Fucking, uh. Moltres.”

Dirk scoffs, faux-offended. “Fucking, uh, _no_. I’m obviously Rapidash.”

“You’re the horse.” Caliborn tucks a lock of hair behind Dirk’s ear, still amused after all this time that Dirk has external ears, and hair whatsoever. Fucking mammals. “Of course you are.”

“Damn right.” He turns his head to rest his cheek against Caliborn’s palm. “If anyone’s Moltres, it’s Davesprite.”

Caliborn does some quick comparisons of his newly-acquired familiarity with human media, regarding team insignia and [album art](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rise_and_Fall,_Rage_and_Grace#/media/File:The_Offspring_-_Rise_and_Fall,_Rage_and_Grace.jpg) versus bird Dave, but decides against stringing a joke together. Maybe the flaming skull would be relevant, [with](http://gurrenlagann.wikia.com/wiki/File:SGDaiGurren.png) or [without Dirk’s shades](https://www.google.com/search?q=The+Offspring+logo). An extra _Ignition_ reference seems too simple, though. Pop culture is a lot to keep track of. 

He sets the brush down on their bed and winds his arms down over Dirk’s shoulders. “So which one am I?”

Dirk settles back against Caliborn’s chest, skin to skin/scales, and hums a contemplative noise. “Mm, I’m gonna go out on a limb here.”

Caliborn butts his prosthetic leg against Dirk’s organic calf. Sunlight glints off the gold. “Which limb?”

“Shh.” The towel is coming untucked from his waist, but it hardly matters. He’s dry enough that it won’t make their sheets sodden, and they’re already comfortable. “I’m gonna go with Smeargle.”

Caliborn rifles through his mental checklist. “Which one is that?”

Dirk holds Caliborn’s hands over his chest, and runs his short fingernails over Caliborn’s knuckles. “Wait, which games have you played?”

“Dave gave me a ROM of Red.” Caliborn’s claws are light on Dirk’s chest, filed to a dull edge. “And was kind enough to assemble a team of five Doduos and MissingNo.”

Dirk snorts. “Is Karkat playing Blue?”

“Karkat said that the games were like Fiduspawn for the wiggliest of wigglers who shit themselves into oblivion.”

Dirk snorts again, louder this time. “And what did Dave say?”

Caliborn shrugs. “It started a boring argument and I tuned them out.”

“Sounds about right.” Amused, he turns around in Caliborn’s lap and sprawls next to him on the bed, reclined with water droplets still evaporating off their shins. “Anyway, you’re totally Smeargle.”

“Uh huh.”

Dirk hooks his right leg over Caliborn’s prosthesis, the towel tangled around his thighs and swiftly coming undone. “It’s this dog-lookin’ kind of dude who’s an artist.”

Caliborn combs his fingers through Dirk’s hair, as Dirk leans his head against Caliborn’s chest and shoulder. “That’s a good start. What else?”

“He’s an artist, and the Pokédex shit says he marks his territory and expresses himself with the colorful fluids that ooze out of him.”

Caliborn smiles, wryly. “Tell that to Karkat.”

“I get the impression that Karkat doesn’t want to be conflated with oozing Pokémon.”

“If he won’t accept that,” Caliborn says, sitting up just enough to kiss the top of Dirk’s head, “then go with a slant rhyme and compare him to Sméagol.”

“How do you figure?”

Caliborn holds a hand in the air and counts on his fingers. “One, he’s crabby and has scuttled around in a cave.”

Dirk watches Caliborn’s hand as it interrupts the daylight streaming into their bedroom and casts a shadow across both of them as they lie together. “The brooding caverns? Okay, sure.”

“Two, a guy named Strider, who’s associated with broken swords, is practically obsessed with him.”

Dirk cinches his arm around Caliborn’s chest and watches him hold up another finger. The middle one is the one he’s most used to seeing Caliborn raise. “Mhm. Aragorn and Gollum is mercifully probably a rare pairing, but yeah. Go on.”

“And three—most importantly—he spends an _awful_ lot of time arguing with himself.”

“I’m sold.” Dirk slides his hand across Caliborn’s chest, up to his left shoulder, where there are pieces of shed beginning to peel away from beneath his armpit and up toward his collarbone. Dirk picks at the edge of it and lifts it up slowly, watches the sun catch through it, translucent. “Should we accent the ‘e’ then? Sméargle?”

“Yes. That’s the one I am, and apparently so is Karkat.” He watches Dirk as he fiddles with the shed, his long eyelashes lowered nearly to his cheeks. “I’ll go get him so we can throw paintbrushes into Jade’s volcano or fucking whatever.”

Dirk grins. “Losing interest in the extended metaphor, huh?” 

“Only because you’re more interesting.”

At that, he glances up, with Caliborn’s shed still clasped between his thumb and index finger. He lets it go until it’s deflated and loose on the curve of his shoulder, light and paper-thin. He follows the slender line of his deltoid down to his inner elbow, lets his hand rest on his forearm, skates his fingertips further until he’s laced their fingers, Caliborn's counted out three digits neatly captured by Dirk’s four, with Dirk's thumb crossed over Caliborn’s.

“Is that so?” Dirk breathes.

“God, what the fuck,” Caliborn murmurs, somehow affectionate while mildly aggravated. “That was so fucking smooth.”

“As smooth as the surface of Andúril after they reforged it.”

Caliborn rolls his eyes, fondly. “Fuck you.”

“You can, if you want.” Dirk’s got Caliborn’s leg between his thighs, with the towel draped over him, but not for long. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“Into what, swords?” Caliborn squeezes Dirk’s hand, his other arm curled around Dirk’s shoulder. “Only because you like them so much.”

“They call that sword the flame of the west.”

“So that shit’s on fire, too. Like your hair?”

“And my pants.”

Caliborn pets along Dirk’s spine, from damp hair clinging to the nape of his neck down between his shoulder blades, and as far down as Caliborn can reach at this angle. “The pants you aren’t wearing.”

“Yeah. Because I’m lying about them, and that’s why they’re on fire.”

Caliborn narrows his eyes, trying to puzzle this one out. “Is there something clever about that statement that I’m missing, besides the obvious?”

“Not really,” Dirk admits. “It wasn’t a very good joke.”

“Mm.” Caliborn strokes Dirk’s back again, repeatedly, until Dirk lets out a sigh and curls closer, pressed hard against Caliborn’s hip. “Maybe you should try again.”

Dirk lets go of Caliborn’s hand and resumes delicately peeling away the shed on Caliborn’s shoulder. “Try what, lying?”

“It’s pragmatic to do it while you’re pantless to begin with, don’t you think?”

“Right.” A section of the shed skin tears off. Dirk holds it up in the sunlight to appreciate his success before crumpling it between his fingers and tossing it to the side. “Does lying down count?”

“Probably. Why not?”

“Lying down with you is a much nicer use of the phrase than any kind of like…” Dirk trails off, preoccupied with peeling off another section from Caliborn’s chest. “Lying down and dying, kinda shit.”

“You and I are upstanding gentlemen, Dirk.” Caliborn works his claws underneath the edge of the shed and uses his fingertips to pry it away from his chest. It forms a weird air pocket. “Historically we’ve tended towards dying on our feet, when we’re not on Sburban furniture.”

“True.” Dirk props himself up on his elbow, the towel barely remaining draped across his hip. With the sun gracing him with rim lighting on his hair and his shoulders, in a recumbent pose, he looks like a live model or some kind of fucking statuary, and he knows it. He prods at the lifted shed skin and watches the bubble flatten out. “Is that because upstanding gentlemen shouldn’t take something lying down?”

Caliborn looks up at him and grins, teeth bared but utterly unintimidating. He’s happy. “I can take a _lot_ while lying down.”

Dirk smiles down at him. “Don’t I know it.”

There’s a quiet moment as Caliborn admires him, soft and smooth and maybe slightly clammy but primarily warm and present and near. He reaches up to brush Dirk’s bangs away from his eyes, as they hang down, unstyled, past his forehead.

“I love you,” he says, and god, it’s still surreal to just say it.

For the briefest instant, the tired lines at the corners of Dirk’s eyes lift just enough, as if he could forget his own exhaustion, for just a short while, and he beams. “I love you, too.”

“It’s because I let you pick off my shed, isn’t it?” Caliborn jokes. “If I’d known that shit was all it took, I would’ve let you in on my soaking sessions years ago.”

“You got me, that’s the only reason I’m here.” Dirk cups the side of Caliborn’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. “You should’ve seen me with how sunburnt I got on my roof. Fuckin’ nuts. I spent so many satisfying afternoons peeling that shit off.”

“Clearly this is why we’re together.”

“Duh.”

Caliborn grabs the edge of the latest section and yanks at it harder than Dirk would’ve, with the sort of determination and acceptance involved in tugging off your own band-aid and knowing what you’re in for, versus the caution granted to helping someone else do the same thing. The shed comes off in a large piece, torn diagonally across his chest where a nipple would be if he was human.

Dirk winces.

“It’s a lot better now that I have access to a bathtub for as long as I like,” Caliborn assures him. “Trying to negotiate this shit with a shackled foot wasn’t fucking fun. And don’t even get me _started_ on the grey paint.”

Dirk watches as Caliborn peels off another piece from across his chest and stomach. There’s a small pile of shed accumulating on their sheets. He’s right that it’s easier to deal with when he’s freshly bathed; Dirk’s had several occasions when a fan or a vacuum sends small fragments of shed flying into the air and scattering across a room, when they’re dried out.

“It’s fun taking a bath with you, at least,” Dirk says.

Caliborn can’t think of a rejoinder, and the more he thinks about it, the less he wants to reply with one. Dirk’s waiting for him to speak, at ease and with an erection that’s readily apparent through the relatively thin terrycloth. 

“It’s fun being with you,” he decides on, at last. It’s genuine, and there’s still part of him that wants to trend towards playing it off as nothing, explain it away as being a game or some bullshit pretense, the same way he and Dirk used to. 

Before they could just fucking own up to it.

“Well, I try.”

“You succeed.”

Dirk splays his fingers out on Caliborn’s stomach and runs his hand along his skin, up to and across the faint line where the top layer of scales are peeling away. His skin is smoother, shinier, more supple in the spots where his shed is gone. The delineation reminds him of the spot where his leg meets the prosthesis. 

“You’re beautiful, man.”

Caliborn scoffs. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Regardless, he glances to the far wall, flustered.

Dirk lets his hand rest on Caliborn’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat, slower and steadier than his own. Even when he’s at peak exertion, Caliborn’s pulse never hits the frantic rate that Dirk’s can, although there’s been times when he’s coming that it’s come close.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Dirk asks, his hand hovering on Caliborn’s sternum.

Caliborn meets his eyes again, with total trust, and nods. “Yeah. It’s gonna bother me until we do something about it, anyway.”

“Hence the bath, right?” Dirk sits up completely and the towel finally falls away from his hips, as he shifts to sit between Caliborn’s parted thighs. “Unless you just wanted to be wet and naked with me.”

Caliborn spreads his legs wider to accommodate him. “Why the fuck would anyone want _that_?”

“Some people have terrible taste.” Dirk slides his hand down on Caliborn’s chest, over his solar plexus, and rolls the edge of the shed between his fingertips until he has a grip on it. He gradually works it loose and tugs it down. Getting large pieces off in one go always feels like more of an accomplishment than having to rub at small sections to urge them to unattach. Then again, the soaking helps.

Caliborn watches Dirk with half-lidded eyes, and asks, slyly, “What kind of taste do I have?”

Dirk immediately flicks his gaze upward, and maintains eye contact as he carefully tugs another section loose and peels it away. He’s past where Caliborn’s navel would be, where his abdomen still dips with near-identical muscle groups. Even if the two of them are alien to each other, they’re still bipedal, and less sensitive sci-fi authors might even venture to call cherubs _humanoid_. Dirk knows better.

“You have good taste,” he confirms, trailing his hand further down to settle his fingertips on Caliborn’s pubic mound, and gently tease his thumb against the entrance to his vent. “ _And_ you taste good.”

In a rare display of self-consciousness, Caliborn speaks quietly. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Dirk answers, without hesitation. “Yeah, you do.”

Caliborn laughs, maybe a little awkwardly. “Well, good. Because I like it when you eat me out.”

“That’s convenient,” Dirk agrees, his thumb running along Caliborn’s [cloacal flap](http://freakyhumanshit.tumblr.com/post/116620825475/unified-theory-of-cherub-junk-the-lifes-work-of), “because I fucking love eating you out.”

Caliborn lifts his hips to press towards Dirk’s hand, aching for more contact but not demanding it. “Do you want to?”

“I pretty much always want to.” Dirk turns his hand to let his thumb rest on Caliborn’s skin, below where his navel would be, hypothetically; where his pubes would start, if he were a human. But he’s not, and Dirk wouldn’t change that for anything.

He tucks his fingertips between Caliborn’s thighs, ghosting over the exterior of his vent. “Do _you_ want me to?”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah, I do.” Caliborn raises his hips off the mattress and grabs for a pillow, to shove under his ass and elevate himself. Dirk’s neck has been through enough. “Please.”

“All right, yeah.” Dirk shifts until he’s lying on his stomach, with his right arm curled around the outside of Caliborn’s left thigh, his hand stroking up along his hip. The bed isn’t quite long enough, and Dirk brings his knees up to get comfortable. “Can you scoot back?”

“Yeah, hang on.” Caliborn does so, supported by a nested pile of pillows and blankets, hips lifted like before, to be more easily accessible. “That good?”

Dirk ducks his head down to kiss the juncture of Caliborn’s thigh and crotch, his eyes nearly closed as he moves centrally, his breath hot as he exhales against Caliborn’s vent. He licks across his slit, sideways, and glances up at him with eyes the color of the goddamned sunset.

“We’re good,” he says, and Caliborn’s response is a frustrated groan, the kind aimed at a terrible pun.

“Fuck you _so much_ , you do this shit every time!” Caliborn covers his face with his hands and takes a deep breath. “How am I supposed to deal with you looking up at me like that?”

Dirk smirks and licks at him again, slowly, and speaks against his skin. “Like what?”

Caliborn moves his hands to take in the sight of him, [his hair sticking up in endearing ways](http://www.mspaintadventures.com/ACT6ACT5ACT1x2COMBO.php?s=6&p=007692) where the water has made it curl at the ends, where the brush quirked it up instead of smoothing it flat, where his face is still flushed from the continuous stimuli of soaking in hot water and then transitioning into sex. He looks like he’s up to something, but what he’s up to is intentionally being a shit in a way that’s unfairly attractive.

“Like you’re out of some kind of... fucking....”

“Yaoi manga?” Dirk suggests.

Caliborn makes a disgruntled sound, caught red-cheeked in a moment of indulgent fantasy, embarrassed despite knowing objectively that Dirk’s into the same shit.

His thighs tense up, tilted inward until his knees are near Dirk’s head. Dirk strokes his fingers along Caliborn’s hip and up to pet his stomach, and resumes kissing and licking at him until his muscles relax and he’s spreading his legs apart again. 

Dirk feels his gut clench pleasantly as Caliborn lets out a sigh, his posture supine and nonthreatening, making no move to grab at Dirk’s head nor shove him closer. After plenty of time together, Dirk’s accustomed to what he likes, and licks wetly at his fingers before touching his cloaca and easing him open, his index and middle fingers on top and his thumb prying softly downward.

He ventures his tongue inside him, shallowly lapping at his vent until his breathing is shallow to match, until the soft noises he’s making provide as much encouragement as the nudge of one hemipenis beginning to evert against the tip of his tongue. Dirk moves his right hand to join his left, and strokes his thumb against Caliborn’s taint, to encourage eversion without forcing anything.

For as boneless as Caliborn’s gone, the angle of his body’s incline has gravity emphasizing the jut of his pelvis, the concave slope of his flat stomach beneath his ribs, skeletal in a way that’s familiar and appealing, and suits him. Dirk doesn’t know where he wants to touch first, and it’s hard to know where to put his hands when everything about him is inviting.

Caliborn makes a sleepy, contented sound, and tilts his head back into the pillows. “God, you feel good.”

Dirk’s breathy laughter is tangible against his wet skin. “I like making you feel good.”

Caliborn closes his eyes and inhales, before letting it out slowly. “Mm, you do such a good fucking job.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me how well I’m doing!” Dirk feigns dismay. “What the fuck’s gonna motivate me to step up my game?”

“Fine,” Caliborn says, playing into it, and lifting his right leg to hook his prosthesis over Dirk’s shoulder. “You’re awful.”

“The _worst_.” Dirk massages below Caliborn’s cloaca, using his thumbs to press gradually upward, until enough of a hemipenis is everted for him to suck the tip of it between his lips.

Caliborn’s calf gets shaky against Dirk’s shoulder. “Just terrible, and I hate how your mouth feels on me.”

Dirk hums his approval. He flutters his tongue against his hemipenis until Caliborn’s prosthetic heel is digging into his back, until his whole body shudders with stimulation, seeking an outlet. 

“Too much, dude.” Caliborn squirms away, and huffs a deep sigh. “Not that it’s not good, it’s just too much, too soon.”

Dirk lays his head on Caliborn’s inner thigh, and runs his hand up to fiddle with the edge of the shed again. “I like watching you get turned on.”

“Lucky for you,” Caliborn says, sitting up and finally reaching down to affectionately tangle his fingers in Dirk’s hair, “that every goddamn thing you do turns me on.”

“I’m always a slut for positive feedback.” Dirk sucks at Caliborn’s cloacal flap, and feels the loosening shed as it’s tugged by his lips. It’s weird, but maybe this is just the reptilian version of getting pubes in his teeth. “Or pseudo-negative feedback, as the case may occasionally be.”

“Yeah, well.” Caliborn brushes his thumb-claw over Dirk’s eyebrow, and lets his hair fall through his fingers. “You suck.”

“Slander.”

“Tchh! You’re sucking me off _right now_ , in this very moment.” 

“Ah.” Dirk presses his lips to the other side of Caliborn’s vent, in an effort to make his the statement true before he says it. “Disregard that. I suck cocks.”

Caliborn lies back down and shifts his position so his legs won’t cramp. “Should I call you a cocksucker, then?”

“It’s one of my many merit badges.” Dirk uses both hands to pull at the shed until it’s peeling down towards Caliborn’s crotch. “Shit was fucking awkward when they awarded it to me, though.”

“Does that merit a ‘camp’ joke?” Caliborn asks. “Sort of a double entendre?”

Dirk tugs slowly, and works at the shed until it’s suddenly yanking outward from within Caliborn’s cloacal flap, translucent and wet, but not especially unsanitary. “Whoa.”

Caliborn wrinkles his nose, which isn’t as effective with his particular variety of cherubic features. “Gross.”

Unperturbed, Dirk guides the rest of the shed skin out and pulls it free, and sets it to the side on their bed. “It doesn’t bother me,” he assures him. “My hair is like, all over the place every time you brush it, so. I’ll just wash the sheets.”

“Nobody’s ever, uh.” Caliborn sticks out his tongue, almost involuntarily, for half a second. “Nobody’s been around to see that one before, until now.”

“It’s cool, bro.” To drive home the point, Dirk runs his tongue over Caliborn’s vent, unfazed. “You’re not gross.”

“It’s like…” Caliborn pauses, unsure of how to phrase it. “Bizarrely intimate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and you’ve had your fist up my ass, so.” Dirk kisses at his skin, where it’s as smooth and soft as the rest of him, or maybe even more so for its location. “Talk about bizarrely intimate.”

Caliborn laughs. “Yeahhh.”

“So yeah, don’t worry about it.” Dirk continues to tear the shed off from his inner thigh, in smaller pieces as it catches on the crease of his thigh meeting his ass. “It takes a lot to gross me out.”

Caliborn reaches down to pick at the shed that’s clinging to one of his cloacal spurs. His dulled claws break it apart into tiny sections until he can brush them away. “In the interests of us both getting laid, I’m gonna refrain from guessing.”

“Good call.” Dirk licks at the spur on the other side, and uses his fingernail to ease the shed off, in one slow movement that pulls it free while retaining its vaguely conical shape. “So. You feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Caliborn sits up completely, and leans over to the side of their bed to grab a box of tissues. “It’s always kind of itchy, but I’ll get the rest after I shower tomorrow.”

“You ever keep the shed from your face intact?” Dirk asks.

Caliborn gathers up the pieces of shed on the sheets and wads them up within a few tissues. “It’s not really worth the effort. I just go at that shit with a washcloth as soon as it’ll come off.”

“Okay, so hear me out.” Dirk runs his hand along Caliborn’s metal shin, up to his organic knee. “If you wanna be like a _real_ fictional mobster? The ultimate trickster Mario? Next time, you save that shit, and put it in somebody’s bed.”

“Like who, Dave’s?” Caliborn snorts. “And isn’t it supposed to be a horse head?”

“Dave... is not unaccustomed to waking up with disembodied horse masks in his bed, anymore.”

“Around here you’d barely notice.” Caliborn sets the wadded-up tissues on the floor next to their bed. “Especially with the side of horse beef you’ve got [hanging in the living room](http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=006544).”

“It’s not a side, it’s the front quarter,” Dirk corrects him. “And recycled plastic doesn’t make for good _cheval_.”

“And you’d know _all_ about eating horses, wouldn’t you?”

Dirk mimes zipping up his lips and throwing away a key.

Caliborn narrows his eyes. “Why is there a key to your zipperlips?”

Dirk shrugs, and keeps his mouth shut.

“You know what I think?”

Dirk gives him a quizzical look.

“I think,” Caliborn says, lifting his hand to pet through Dirk’s hair, “that this is a ruse. A _distaction_ to keep me from asking about your lewd affinity for horses.”

“Look who you’re dating.” Dirk breaks his short-lived silence. “You don’t have much room to talk.”

“I am making fun of you, which allows for a lot of hypocrisy.” At this point, Dirk’s hair is fluffed out from being played with so much, nearly dry and thoroughly tousled. Caliborn doesn’t stop running his fingers through it.

“I seem to remember you calling me a horseporking twit, at one point.”

Caliborn twirls a lock of Dirk’s hair around his finger, until it almost stays that way when he moves his hand. “You gonna deny it?”

Dirk chews his lip. “Maybe the ‘twit’ part.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lies down on the bed, fully, and looks up at Caliborn, with stripes of sunlight lying in a stretched grid across his face and chest. “Never did make a Twitter account.”

Caliborn trails his hand down from Dirk’s hair to his neck, to his collarbone. “Yeah, well. I hear it’s for the birds, anyway.”

“Lame.”

“Fuck off.”

“ _Now_ whose jokes suck, huh?”

Caliborn leans down to kiss him, until the sun is in his eyes. His mouth is less pliant than Dirk’s, maybe even harsh, in a vacuum, but he can’t help it, and to Dirk this is now the standard. Dirk tilts his head back, tilts his chin up so Caliborn can bite lightly at his lips, touch his forked tongue to his own.

“Do you want to get off?” Caliborn asks.

“Sure, man.” He reaches up to drape his arms over Caliborn’s shoulders. “I’m feeling so fuckin’ lazy, though.”

“I could get on top of you,” he offers. “If you want.”

“That’d be good.” Dirk rubs at the back of Caliborn’s neck, to stimulate his scutes with his fingertips. “But I’m gonna fall off the bed.”

Caliborn presses back against Dirk’s fingers, content. “Wouldn’t be the first time we fucked on the floor.”

“Maybe not, but our bed’s too comfortable to opt out of it.” Dirk shifts backward on their mattress, until he’s resting on the same pile of pillows that Caliborn had assembled earlier. “And on past occasions, my knees didn’t hold up as well as your back did.”

“Pretend I’m saying something derogatory about human fragility, then.”

Caliborn crawls over to straddle him, and rests his hands on Dirk’s chest, stronger and more defined with age. This time, Caliborn’s the one who’s backlit by the fading sunlight, and it makes the shadows on his eyes that much more dramatic. Some kind of fuckin’ IRL tenebrism shit.

Dirk strokes his fingers along Caliborn’s forearm. “You look like Caravaggio painted you.”

“Caravaggio can fight me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Mister rough-and-tumble artsy fuck, over here.”

“I _would_ like for Caravaggio to fight me, at his earliest convenience.”

“I’ll have my people talk to his people,” Dirk says, smiling up at him. “By which I mean, I’ll ask Dave to do pretendsies time travel and come up with some bullshit to surprise you with.”

“You know just what to say.” Caliborn rolls his hips against Dirk, who’s semi-erect. “What would I do without you?”

Dirk settles his hands on Caliborn’s hips. “Jack off to anime titty, alone.”

Caliborn sticks his tongue out at him and catches the scent of Dirk’s body wash. “As opposed to jacking off to anime tits, jointly?”

“Exactly!”

Caliborn lowers himself down to kiss Dirk again, lingering until Dirk’s running his hands up and down his back, lifting his hips to meet Caliborn’s downward press. He flicks his tongue out, against Dirk’s jawline, where he's been meaning to shave, and speaks against his ear just past the lock of hair that covers the top of his sideburns. “I like watching you jack off, though.”

“You wanna watch me?” Dirk asks, petting along Caliborn’s spine. “I could go for that.”

“I want to frot on you more, first, but it’s too dry.”

“We’ve got stuff that’ll fix that.”

Caliborn tucks his head against Dirk’s shoulder, chest pressed flush to his, and hugs him. “I don’t want to move, though.”

“Are we both too lazy to have sex right now?” Dirk hugs him back, amused with himself. “Fucking incredible.”

“Maybe.” Caliborn kisses his throat, his teeth present but not a danger. “But what’s the rush?”

Caliborn’s frame is slighter than Dirk’s, and his weight is welcome and not uncomfortable. Dirk lets him kiss on his neck, and takes the opportunity to close his eyes and resume petting Caliborn’s back. 

“This is nice,” Dirk sighs. “Just like this.”

“You’re nice.”

“Psshhh.”

Caliborn lifts his head to kiss Dirk, open-mouthed and slow, his claws cradling Dirk’s face. Dirk kisses him back, rubbing a little faster at his scutes. While Dirk’s not always in the mood to make out, when he’s into it, he’s _really_ into it, and lets his tongue touch to Caliborn’s, lets Caliborn lick into his mouth, until they’re both worked up, hard and everted respectively, and grinding on each other.

“Hang on, I’m gonna get the, uh.” Caliborn leans over the side of the bed again to fish for a plastic bin beneath the frame. He lifts the entire bin onto the bed, and grabs for a bottle of lubricant. The cap clicks open, and he pours an ample amount onto his fingers before spreading it over himself, on and between his hemipenes and cloaca, and pours extra to drizzle over Dirk’s dick. 

Dirk watches him as Caliborn jacks him off, his movements sped up with the assistance of the lube. “You’re fucking hot, you know that?”

Caliborn meets his gaze fully, confident, assertive. “Hey, you too.”

Dirk closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Caliborn touching him, and lets out a gentle gasp when Caliborn moves his hand and climbs back on top of him. His hemipenes frot on either side of Dirk’s erection, slick with lube, and they move together with unhurried, indulgent rocking motions until they’re both short of breath.

Caliborn lets his sticky hands brace against Dirk’s chest for leverage, and grinds down against his cock. The slick noises they’re making as they rub against each other only serve to get him more worked up. “You feel so fucking good.”

“God, dude,” Dirk breathes. There’s sweat on his face, under his arms where he hasn't bothered to trim anything, between his thighs, behind his knees. He laughs, airily. “God, I could come just like this.”

“Do you want to?” Caliborn reaches down to hold Dirk’s dick steady between his hemipenes, to keep his movements consistent. “Or do you want to hold out?”

Dirk bites his lower lip and inhales through his nose. “Mm, it’s tempting.”

Caliborn shifts to sits back on Dirk’s thighs, and angles his dick towards himself. Once the logistics are figured out, he guides the head of Dirk’s erection to rub in circles over one of his hemipenes, until he can roll his foreskin forward to slip his hemipenis against his glans and move them together, with his thumb, slick and sensitive. He feels hard and full, with Dirk’s pulse throbbing against his own, with an aching emptiness in his cloaca.

“God,” he gasps, choked. “God, I want you to fuck me.”

“You can get on top of me.” Dirk licks his lips, his eyes nearly closed. “Do whatever you want.”

Caliborn flicks his tongue out, and can taste Dirk’s sweat in the air. He spends a while longer massaging Dirk’s foreskin over both of them, until he’s clenching his cloaca around nothing. He pours more lube onto his hand, and reluctantly pulls away so he can coat it over Dirk’s dick. Dirk groans, gratefully, at the handjob.

He pours more lube onto Dirk’s fingers, and kneels upright, making himself available. “Can you…?”

“Dude, yeah.” Dirk’s fingers are far softer and safer than Caliborn’s, and he slides two of them up inside his vent, slicking him up and carefully stretching him out. He uses his thumb to rub between Caliborn’s hemipenes as he goes, pressing them back against Caliborn’s skin until they leave sticky spots in their wake. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Caliborn takes a deep breath and grins at him, feeling heady, warm, and very fucking turned on. “I like when you finger me.”

Dirk pulls his hand back, waits for Caliborn to add more lube, and pushes his fingers back inside to move them rhythmically, to curl the pads of his fingertips back against him. “I like touching you.”

As satisfying as it is for Dirk to feel him up, Caliborn eventually pulls off his hand and takes his dick in his fist, to hold him still as he lowers himself onto his erection. Dirk’s not particularly big, but Caliborn’s not a big dude, and they slot together in a way that’s very fucking mutually satisfying. 

“ _God_ , fuck.” Caliborn sinks down onto him, until his hemipenes are flared out around Dirk’s girth, pressing into his pubic hair, his cloaca flush against his balls, all of it slick with stray lubricant. He works his fingers over his hemipenes for a solid minute, teasing them between his forefinger and thumb, and then gives up on sitting upright to lie forward against Dirk’s chest. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“You feel really good,” Dirk echoes, bringing his arms up to curl around Caliborn’s back again. “I love when you ride me.”

“I love riding you.” Caliborn angles his head to kiss him, with Dirk’s erection slid halfway out of his cloaca, until he pushes himself back down to thrust onto him, going slowly enough that they don’t have to stop making out.

When their mouths finally part, Caliborn hides his face against Dirk’s neck. All he can smell is sweat, and the novelty of it still hasn’t worn off, years later. He bucks against Dirk’s hips, his hemipenes frotting on Dirk’s pubic mound, his dick sliding deeply into him with each movement.

Dirk makes a pleading noise, and Caliborn bites at his throat, holding onto the spot but not risking damage, and Dirk groans even louder. Caliborn runs his fingers up into Dirk’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and continues kissing his neck until Dirk’s letting out short, near-anguished sounds of desperation.

They rock together, harder and harder, until god tier or not, they’re both tapped out. Dirk kisses Caliborn, and lies there, needy, his eyes closed and his lips parted, anticipating more kissing but too breathless to initiate it.

“I’m not gonna come like this,” Caliborn says, honestly. “I’m trying, but it’s just not happening.”

Dirk nods, his head tilted towards his shoulder. “Do whatever you gotta do, dude.”

In an instant, Caliborn’s turned towards the small storage bin he left on their mattress, and grabs a simple, smooth vibrator and turns it on. He fits it between his hemipenes, stuck maybe awkwardly next to Dirk’s stomach, and rocks his hips. There’s not much thrusting; Dirk stays completely fucked deep within him, as he jostles the vibrator back and forth to stimulate himself.

Dirk lifts his hands to keep them at Caliborn’s hips, and reaches back around to play with his scutes at the small of his back. Caliborn sucks in a breath through his teeth, his organic toes curling, clenching his cloaca around the fullness of Dirk’s dick. 

The vibrator guarantees reliable pressure and pleasure to ramp up the feeling of Dirk fucking into him, and Caliborn watches as he runs the buzzing tip of it over himself, to tease himself on both sides. He alternates, slicking over the delicate, sensitive fleshiness of his hemipenes to trap them between the softness of his stomach and the silky silicone of the toy.

“ _Fuck_ , I’m gonna come,” he says, even more into it by virtue of saying it out loud.

“Do it,” Dirk encourages, gripping harder at Caliborn’s hips, circling his fingertips on his scutes. “Do it, I want you to come on my dick.”

Caliborn lets out a long, drawn-out moan as he rocks his hips on Dirk’s, driving himself down onto his cock, until the vibrator is coaxing out thick, dribbled rivulets of ejaculate onto its smooth surface. He keeps it moving on one side until he’s thoroughly spent, then takes a few harsh breaths and moves it to the opposite side. The vibrator is slick with a mixture of semen and lubricant, and with the remnants of his first orgasm still coursing hotly through the pit of his stomach, it doesn’t take much for him to come again, vocalizing near breathlessly.

He leans forward on the bed, his right hand still holding the vibrator against his groin, his left braced against the mattress. He presses a button to switch the setting down to something less intense, and keeps it nestled against himself as he rides out the last waves of it. 

“Holy shit, that was good.” Caliborn turns the toy off and sets it to the side, on the towel Dirk was wearing earlier. He allows himself to collapse onto Dirk’s chest, without pulling off him, and kisses Dirk’s jawline. “You make me feel good.”

“Hey, I enjoy it.” Dirk sweeps his hands up Caliborn’s back and lets them rest on the back of his head, to hold him securely. “You make good noises.”

Caliborn laughs. “You help.”

The last minutes of bright sunlight are fading into dusk, and their bedroom is darker than when they started. None of it’s a problem for Caliborn, whose eyes are attuned to seeing through deep space. Dirk contemplates turning on a light, but decides it’s not worth the effort. 

“How do you feel like finishing?” Caliborn asks. He slips his hands under Dirk’s back, shoved between his body and the mattress, and holds him tightly. “You can keep fucking me, if you want. It still feels good.”

Dirk glances over to the storage bin, and then turns his head to kiss Caliborn’s cheek. “You still wanna watch me jack off?”

“Fucking always.”

“You wanna do me a favor?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Can you go get my phone?”

Caliborn kisses his shoulder. “Where’d you leave it?”

“Like, the living room, maybe?” He shrugs, and Caliborn’s body moves slightly with the motion. “I’m still not used to having one that isn’t attached to my face.”

“Yeah, all right.” He sits up, and pulls off Dirk with a wet squelching sound and a soft grunt. Dirk’s erection is still shiny and slick with lube, even in the low light. “You want some water?”

“Yeah. And uh,” Dirk hesitates, embarrassed for reasons Caliborn can’t discern. “And my wireless headphones?”

“The like, the noise-cancelling ones?”

“Yeah, those.”

“Okay, hang on.” Caliborn stretches his arms over his head, and Dirk admires his lithe build and the mess between his thighs. He grabs the bath towel and uses it to wipe himself off, then sets the vibrator back on top of it and gets up. 

He’s off the bed with a clack as his claws hit the wood floor and a thunk as his prosthesis does the same. He pauses to grab the pile of tissues off the floor, so he can throw them out. Smiling fondly, Dirk watches him leave, and then sits up to dig through the bin for [his own toy of choice](https://bad-dragon.com/products/bumblehooves) and a different bottle of lube. The silicone is cast in the same orange as his favorite font color, although without being backlit, nothing can realistically get as bright as he’d want, short of glowing in the fucking dark. At the moment, it might be a convenient feature, but he knows well enough where his own ass is.

Dirk pumps out a generous amount of a thicker lubricant and runs it up and down the dildo, then gets extra onto his fingers to tease past his asshole and slick himself up. His dick is still hard, arced back against his body, with a slight amount of precome sticking a string between his stomach and his glans.

He’s just as loud, alone, performative for his own sake after a long-ass time in isolation in his oceanic apartment. After a while of only fingering himself, he uses his other hand—his right—to reach down and jack himself off with a controlled, steady stroke. He’s no stranger to edging himself, either.

When Caliborn returns, it’s with clean hands and a clean-ish crotch, and water held safely away from electronics. He sits down on the bed and offers the glass to Dirk, who wipes his right hand on the towel and takes it, sitting up to take large gulps.

“Thanks, man.”

“They’re still not back yet, either.”

Dirk grins against the lip of the glass. “So we can be as obnoxious and naked as we want, still?”

Caliborn smirks. “As if that’s any different than normal?”

“If not for Karkat’s inexplicably passionate love for sweaters in all weather, yeah.”

“The sweater-but-no-pants look is really fucking fashionable, you jackass.”

“Excuse you.” Dirk drains the glass and lays it down on the bed. “I’m a _horse’s_ ass, dude.”

Caliborn nods to the dildo, balanced and propped upright on the sheets, coated in lube. “More like a horse is going into your ass.”

“Bumble Hooves knows how to treat a guy.”

“You’re treating yourself, here.”

“Ain’t no time left for shame.”

Caliborn shoots him an amused look, and hands him his phone. Dirk takes it with his right hand; while it’s not his dominant hand, he’s kinda ambidextrous, and this one’s cleaner. He switches on the Bluetooth and queues up some audio tracks he mixed for himself.

Before he hits play, Dirk waits for Caliborn to power on the headphones and help him get them onto his head, cupping softly over his ears and quieting everything else. When the music starts, it’s faintly audible to Caliborn, but not much.

He reaches to pet Dirk’s stomach, but Dirk shakes his head, and when he speaks he can hear his voice in his own skull more than he can hear it normally.

“I’m feeling kinda... touch-averse, I guess?” He looks at Caliborn almost apologetically, but Caliborn shrugs it off.

“You’re fine.”

Dirk smiles at him, relieved. “You can still watch, though. I like having you here.”

Caliborn folds his legs up beneath himself, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, his right foot pressing more heavily into it and creating a deeper depression in the memory foam. “What’re you listening to?”

Dirk pointedly avoids answering, and gives him a sheepish look before closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He pumps extra lubricant onto his fingers and returns his hands to his body, pushing one fingertip inside himself as he strokes his dick. Partnered masturbation used to make him feel like he had to put on a show, but at this point it’s less feeling like he _has_ to, and feeling like he _wants_ to.

With the music barely distinguishable, Caliborn watches Dirk slowly push the dildo inside himself, his breath getting shaky as he takes in the blunt, flared head and works his way past the wider ridge of the medial ring. By the time he’s got the toy pressed completely into his ass, with its silicone balls flush against his asshole, he’s returned his right hand to his dick and is jerking himself in quick, urgent flicks of his wrist.

Caliborn can almost make out the sound effects he’s hearing, past the thump of the bass and whatever other notes the synthesizers are producing. It’s hot to see Dirk like this, regardless, and he takes in the sight of him, taking the stoutness of the toy all the way to the hilt, his lubed hand struggling to keep a grip on the slippery base of it, his other hand moving faster, rolling his foreskin back and forth across his glans with every stroke. 

It’s when Dirk starts squeezing at his dick and hurriedly driving the dildo into his ass that Caliborn realizes the sounds he was hearing were _whinnying_.

He learns something every fucking day, it seems.

In an effort to assist indulging Dirk’s fetish, Caliborn scoots in closer as Dirk’s hand slows down, clearly getting tired. 

“Want me to help?” he asks, louder than usual, to be heard over the audio.

Dirk nods vehemently without opening his eyes, and moves his left hand away to join his right, to grip at the base of his dick while continuing to move his right up and down. He spreads his thighs widely and lifts his ass towards Caliborn, the dildo lodged deeply within him and shifting slightly in and out with his shallow hip thrusts as he clenches around it.

Caliborn gets a firm grasp on the base of the toy, cautious not to damage the silicone with his claws, and steadily fucks Dirk’s ass with it. He can see the precome welling at the head of Dirk’s dick, the way his hamstrings strain to keep his legs apart, the way his feet press into the mattress sometimes with his toes, sometimes with his heels. With total admiration, Caliborn runs his free hand over Dirk’s thigh, up to his knee, to soothe and encourage him as he keeps pushing the toy into him.

When Dirk’s moaning goes from breathy sounds and starts turning to choked, gasping cries, Caliborn speeds up his efforts and pounds the dildo harder, until he nearly loses his grip.

Dirk comes, loudly, with both hands pumping his cock as he ejaculates onto his stomach and chest. The headphones are bold and saturated against his pale hair, and he shudders visibly several times as the last moments of his orgasm thrum through him. Caliborn lets go of the dildo and pets at Dirk’s hip, before glancing to the side and reconsidering his ideas for seeing Dirk through his afterglow.

Exhausted, Dirk keeps his head tilted back into the pillow. His hands are still on his dick, and the dildo is still in his ass, and he has no desire to move. He does, however, turn his head just enough to let Caliborn take the headphones off his head, and makes no protest when Caliborn pauses the music player on his phone and sits further up on the bed, next to the drinking glass.

He lies still, sticky and sated, as Caliborn runs the brush through his hair again, to coax his sweat-stuck bangs off his forehead and moving back towards the pillow, as far as he can go before repeating the movement.

“Mmm, don’t stop.” Dirk rolls onto his side to allow for better access. Caliborn keeps brushing his hair, entertained by the blond strands that stick to the black pillowcase, and even more entertained by the bright orange dildo sticking out of Dirk’s ass.

“Should I call you a good pony?” he asks, only half joking.

Dirk laughs, and finally looks up at him. He might be embarrassed if he wasn’t so goddamn comfortable. “Yeah. You can.”

“You are a good pony,” Caliborn states, matter-of-factly. “This is the objective truth that I am stating for the record.”

“I am probably the best pony,” Dirk agrees. “It’s me.”

“It’s definitely you.” Caliborn leans down at an awkward angle to kiss Dirk’s forehead, regardless of the sweat on his brow. “No one else comes close.”

“Thanks for not like, judging me.” Dirk shifts until he’s pressing his forehead against Caliborn’s knee. “I know I’m kinda fuckin’ weird, but.”

“I owe you that much,” Caliborn says. “You have yet to give me significant shit for the low standards I have for fanart I think is fap-worthy.”

“Oh my god, though, man. That shit was like.” Dirk snickers. “It was seriously in MS Paint, though.”

“Yeah, well, I have an active imagination.”

Dirk makes a grab for the towel, which sends the vibrator tumbling onto the bed, then wipes his stomach off with it. He reluctantly pulls the dildo out of his ass, and wipes up after that, too. “Hey, you wanna take a quick shower with me?”

Caliborn reaches over to run the brush through Dirk’s hair, at the back of his head, now that the pillow isn’t blocking his access. “Yeah, we can. Maybe you can get the rest of the shed off my back.”

“Just as long as we don’t clog the drain, or Karkat’ll kill us.”

Caliborn snorts. “As if I wasn’t the one who unclogged it, last time.”

“Because you were best suited to snake the drain?” Dirk sighs, content, as Caliborn continues to brush him. “Anyway, Dave swore he wouldn’t cut his hair in the shower again.”

“Damn right.”

“Dude, we have good sex, though.” He lifts his hand and puts it into a fist, waiting for Caliborn to join in. “Pound it.”

Caliborn gives him a fist bump. “I will pound your flesh any day you like.”

“Maybe after we sleep this one off, then?”

Smiling, Caliborn brushes Dirk’s bangs back one more time, then sets the brush down. 

Dirk leans forward and inclines his chin towards Caliborn’s face. 

Caliborn moves in to kiss him, softly. “Let’s not rule it out.”

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> [got it in one](http://generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=9094)


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